


Serendipity

by ShiTiger



Series: They Walk Among Us [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 18:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiTiger/pseuds/ShiTiger
Summary: Primus and Unicron walk into a bar — which could have been the opening line of a joke, but as we all know, stranger things HAVE happened on the Lost Light.





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Serendipity: The chance occurrence of events in a beneficial way.

How long had they been sitting there, tucked away in a corner booth on the far side of Swerve’s bar?  Not a single person in the room had seen them come in through the door, so perhaps they had appeared in their chosen seats using powers beyond those of regular Cybertronians.  Or they may have merely been overlooked due to the fact that Rung was presumed dead.  Not even Brainstorm would have considered the possibility that Primus might return to them, wearing the same modest form as before.

They sat in silence, their faces reflected back at one another in near-perfect harmony. The mech facing the crowd was clad in orange, his cerulean gaze calmly taking in his negative twin.  His companion stared back through crimson optics, his dark lips creasing down at the corners.  If they were communicating with one another, it was impossible to know what was being said.  In the end, it didn't matter, as their discussion was about to be interrupted by a snowball of happiness known as Tailgate of Rivets Field.

“Rung’s back!” The little blue and white minibot flung himself toward the table, his servos gripping the edge in excitement as he leaned in closer.  “We all thought you DIED!” he proclaimed loudly.

“Hello, Tailgate.  It is good to see you, as well,” Rung replied, a hint of a smile gracing his lips.  At the sight, his blue-armored twin rolled his red optics, his frown intensifying.

"You are interrupting a battle of wills between the primal forces of darkness and light,” the unknown mech snapped, his gaze narrowing at the small Cybertronian.

Blue optics peered up at the newcomer in immediate interest. “You look like Rung!  Are you twins?  I didn’t know you had a brother!” Tailgate squeaked happily, clapping his servos together.  Cyclonus was immediately behind him, his large servos settling on the minibot’s shoulders protectively.  “I like your purple highlights,” the little bot continued, completely oblivious to the identity of the mech in question.

A single dark purple eyebrow rose at his remark, but a smirk soon stretched across his lips.  “At least ONE of your creations has better taste in color than you do.  Orange is tacky, at best.”

“I like orange. It’s a nice, warm color,” Rung stated serenely.  Turning his attention to the mechs and femmes now peering at their table in silent amazement, he got to his feet.  Clearing his throat, the psychiatrist waved a servo at his companion.  “Hello, everyone.  I am overjoyed to see you all alive and well.  This is my spark-brother, Unicron.”

Whispers immediately flooded the room, even as Cyclonus pulled Tailgate back several steps, his red optics narrowed warily at the newcomer.

“Any of you _puny insects_ got a problem with that?” the other god snapped, his temper flaring in a dark pulse the sent every Cybertronian in the room to their knees. 

“Brother, calm yourself.  You promised to be on your best behavior if I invited you aboard,” Rung insisted, setting a pale servo atop his twin’s darker one.

“This IS my best behavior.  I haven’t devoured any of their sparks — yet,” Unicron grumbled loudly, snatching his servo back to cross his arms over chest in defiance.

“No freakin’ way!  He’s so tiny!”

“Whirl, do not antagonize the god of destruction,” Cyclonus ordered, keeping Tailgate close even as the blue ex-wrecker flounced over for a better look.

“Eyebrows!  Didn’t think you’d still be alive.  Guess you really are Primus,” Whirl chuckled, throwing an arm around his psychiatrist’s shoulders.

“Ooof!  Yes, Whirl, I am.  It’s good to see you, too,” Rung said, patting the larger mech on the arm. 

Unicron eyed the ex-wrecker, his crimson optics peering through his plating and into his very spark.  Turning his gaze on his brother, he announced, “Your child is hurting.  I can feel the misery radiating from his very spark.  He seeks what was once stolen from him.” 

Whirl’s single optic narrowed at the skinny blue god, anger pulsing through his lines at the mention of his inner thoughts and emotions.

“This is why I was **against** creating a sentient species.  They only cause pain and grief to those around them in their search for meaning and purpose.   What do your _loving_ children call this disgusting abuse of personal freedom?” the dark god asked, gesturing at the copter. 

“Empurata,” Rung sighed, his servos folding together in front of him on the table.  Hanging his head, he whispered again, “Empurata.  Removing and replacing the hands and head as a form of punishment.”

“And your people have the audacity to call ME evil,” Unicron snorted unkindly, his crimson gaze focusing again on the ex-wrecker.  Nodding to himself after making a split-second decision, the god reached out and grabbed one of Whirl’s claws, dragging it across the table. “You have protected my idealistic other half in his time of need, so I, Unicron, shall grant you this boon.”

A surge of power warped the claw in his grasp into liquid metal.  Moving swiftly, the dark god molded and reshaped it into a five-fingered hand.  “I have temporarily shut off your pain receptors. I did this for _my own_ benefit, so that I would not have to endure your pained cries for mercy during this procedure.”

“Unicron,” Rung whispered in awe, staring at the wrecker’s newly-formed hand. 

“You may have drained our combined powers by creating far too many matrixes at once, which I am STILL rightfully cross about, but I do continue to retain the ability to bring back what was lost,” Unicron stated firmly.  “Other hand,” the ordered, gesturing at the overly-weaponized mech.

Whirl thrust the other claw forward rapidly, his single optic nearly tearing up at the sight and feeling of having functioning fingertips again. 

“Your creations are so weak and puny.  I don’t know why you bothered creating them.  Life will only cause them sparkache.  Better that they had not been brought into existence, at all,” the dark god grumbled as he molded the bigger mech’s remaining claw into a hand. 

Whirl flexed his fingertips when the procedure was finally complete.  “LOOK EVERYBODY!  I HAVE HANDS!”

“I knew you could do good,” Rung declared quietly, smiling happily at his brother. 

“Ugh!  Don’t mention it.  I can _feel_ your satisfaction from here, and I **loathe** it,” Unicron insisted.  “Tiny bartender!” the god shouted, snapping his fingertips.  “Bring me a drink!”

**Author's Note:**

> Unicron’s color-scheme is based on the fact that Rung is orange/red/white with blue optics. If he’s warmly-colored, then Unicron should be the opposite, blue/purple/black with red optics… although I did consider giving him silver optics. The pink in the picture of Rung-style Unicron would definitely be a darker purple.


End file.
